


sometimes it all works out and you get everything you ever wanted

by tryslora



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Angst with a Happy Ending, Background Relationships, Everyone Is Alive, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Mates, Mates Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Misunderstandings, True Mates, Werewolf Mates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-27 11:33:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20045311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: ...and there’s Stiles, with twins calling him Daddy, and calling Lydia Mommy, and it’s so obvious that everything worked out Just Like He Wanted… right up until the moment that Derek realizes that every assumption he ever made was wrong.





	sometimes it all works out and you get everything you ever wanted

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story about Derek being a big goober who makes a lot of VERY WRONG assumptions and needs a kick in the butt to get his head out of his arse. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I may be a little in love with Derek's family and pack. ANYWAY. I shouldn't be writing fic right now but here I am because I had this idea about Stiles being a Dad and Derek making a bad assumption about how that came to be?

“What is he doing here?” Cora barely gets the words out before she slams the door in his face, leaving Derek standing alone on the porch of the house he once called home.

“I invited him.” The door opens again and Peter is there, laugh lines crinkling around his eyes, a baby cradled in the crook of his arm.

Cora curls her lip and snarls at Derek before she turns on her heel and stalks off.

Derek isn’t surprised.

“I deserve that,” he mumbles. It’s hard enough coming home for the first time in ten years, but there are too many people here, and some of them are still holding a grudge. There are easily a dozen or more cars outside. There are voices he doesn’t recognize, of all ages, and all too many voices that do sound familiar. He’s not ready for this.

He’s not ready for any of this.

“Here. Hold the celebrant,” Peter holds out a blanket wrapped bundle and Derek reflexively takes the infant, the reaction too ingrained after growing up in a large family.

The baby wrinkles his nose, lips pursed in an irritated expression. Derek touches him between the eyebrows, just a light stroke down the bridge of his nose, and smiles when the baby’s eyes widen. Bright green shot through with threads of ice blue, his eyes are alert, despite the furrowed Hale brows that still echo a small amount of concern.

Derek starts swaying. It’s too ingrained not to.

Peter smirks. “You can leave the big family, but it never leaves you, I see. Or have you been babysitting your way around the world?”

“Peter, what is Cora—” Talia Hale stops in the doorway to the foyer, one hand raised. It falls slowly as her expression shatters, shifting through too many expressions for Derek to read. “Derek,” she whispers.

Shit.

“Mom.”

He braces, unsure whether he’ll be hugged or berated, or whether he’ll find himself cowed by his alpha’s snarl.

He isn’t prepared for her tears.

Fuck.

“Right, let me just take this back.” Peter deftly scoops the baby from Derek’s arms. “His naming ceremony begins in twenty minutes; you’ve managed to wait until the last second to get your ass here, Derek. We’ll see you out back.” He brushes by Talia, murmuring on his way, “No one will disturb you. You have fifteen minutes. We need our alpha.”

Derek has no idea how Peter does it so quickly, but the house feels empty around him, not a heartbeat or breath anywhere closer than the huge backyard.

“Derek.” She reaches and he stumbles closer, lets her wrap her arms around his shoulder, pulling him and pressing his face into the crook of her throat to inhale her scent like he’s still a child. She presses her cheek to his, rubbing her scent against him, and he feels as if he’s being welcomed home.

Her tears are warm against his skin, her sobs soft as they shake her slender body.

“You came home,” she finally murmurs. “None of us—we haven’t heard from you.”

“Peter hunted me down.” Literally. Derek received an email from Chris Argent, which was his only warning before Peter called a number that no one else has. “He… made a good argument for me being here.”

Talia steps back, her hands on Derek’s shoulder as she observes him. “He threatened you.”

Derek nods. “He informed me that there was nothing his husband wouldn’t do for him, including hogtying me and hauling my ass back here if I refused. In fact, he implied that Chris might enjoy the hunt.”

“He may not be wrong.” Talia pats his cheek, then uses the same hand to wipe away stray tears from her cheeks. “If I’d known that tactic would work, I would have sent friendly hunters after you years ago. But you wouldn’t have come then, would you.” It’s not a question, and Derek flushes that she knows him this well.

“Why now?” she asks. “Other than the threat that a hunter would drag you back here by your balls.”

The flush intensifies. “Mom,” Derek mutters. “It just—I was between jobs. It’s Peter’s first grandchild, and he… asked. And I’m—” He wants to say he’s better, but he’s pretty sure that Beacon Hills will always hold painful and awkward memories for him. It wasn’t easy getting off the plane after it touched down, but he’s here. He’s home.

“It was time,” he finally says, his voice low. He tilts his head, bares his throat in deference to his alpha, and she sighs.

Her hand falls to the nape of his neck, curled so that her fingertips press claws just tight enough to prick his skin. “You are welcome here,” she murmurs. “And there is no punishment I can give you that is worse than what your sisters will do. So stay as long as you like. You’ve been gone for a decade, more if you include your time away at college. It may take them twice as long to forgive you.”

Derek makes a small noise that is supposed to sound like assent but sounds more like a whine to his own ears.

Outside, there’s a soft yip, and a voice hushing the young pup’s voice. The baby cries, and the howls start low at first, rising in volume.

Talia tips back her head, howls loudly in response, and the sound stops.

“Come,” she says, offering her hand. “Let’s go celebrate a naming under the first moon.”

#

The baby’s name is called for the first time under the full moon. As the pack calls out, “Jack!” and howls, the infant rests in his mother’s arms and cries at first until she howls with the pack. Jack’s tiny, piercing attempt at a howl make everyone laugh, and it breaks the spell of the ceremony.

“I want you to meet Malia.” Peter’s grip on Derek’s arm is strong enough to hurt, and Derek knows that despite the friendly facade, Peter is still angry at him for disappearing. He’s angry at Derek for not being here when Peter discovered that his high school girlfriend had taken two children with her when she disappeared long ago. Malia had been found when Cora was still in high school, and it was her unlikely resemblance to Jackson that had led to the discovery of Peter’s children.

Derek remembered Jackson as a prick in Cora’s year in school, but he’d never met Malia. He’d heard about her, in those early years. The way she dated Stiles, then Lydia, and finally married Scott a few years ago.

Derek may have been out of touch, but he kept himself aware of what happened to his pack. Just enough to know that he wasn’t ready to return. And he’s still not ready to deal with everything, but he’s going to try, for his family’s sake.

“Here.” Malia unceremoniously shoves Jack into Derek’s arms, and he reflexively starts swaying with him again, while Malia shakes her arms out. “How is something so small so damned heavy?” she asks. She glances at Derek, then looks at Peter. “I can trust him, right?”

“You can trust him. I doubt he’s going to disappear with your baby,” Peter says dryly. “Whether he disappears after tonight is over—well, all bets are off. But don’t worry, he’ll give the child back first.”

“Good,” Malia says. She rolls back, shifting her weight from toes to heels, then back to her toes. She reminds Derek of a predator looking for prey as she looks around, and as soon as she spots what she’s looking for, she goes absolutely still, gaze locked elsewhere.

“Derek, this is my daughter, Malia. My first born, apparently,” Peter introduces them, one hand falling on Malia’s shoulder to keep her in place. “Malia, this is my eldest nephew, Derek. Laura’s twin.”

Malia turns slowly to look at him. She blinks, then shoves a hand in his direction, which Derek takes cautiously. “The asshole,” she says. “I’ve heard of you.”

“He’s one of us. You can scent him.”

Malia glares at Peter. “Cora doesn’t like him, so no. I don’t want his scent all over me. Besides, like you said, he’s leaving again. Why bother getting him mixed in with the pack scent?”

Derek flinches at every word. She drops his hand, and he flexes his fingers, then carefully brings that same hand up to help cradle Jack as if that’s what he intended all along.

Malia shrugs herself out from under Peter’s grasp. “I see Scott. We’re going to go have sex in the woods.” Her grin is sharp as she steps away, never turning her back on them.

“I deserve that,” Derek mutters.

Jack, at least, doesn’t judge him. Jack is quiet, yawning as he stretches, then curling into a tiny blanket-wrapped ball in Derek’s arms. There’s a little ridge over his eyebrows, and when Derek touches it, Jack’s brow smoothes back into humanity.

“He’s going to be a powerful shifter,” Peter says proudly. “His father’s a True Alpha.”

“Daddy!” A shrill voice cuts through the air as a small body barrels into Derek’s legs. “I wanna hold the baby!”

The girl can’t be more than three, with strawberry blond curls spilling around her face, and a freckled, upturned nose that wrinkles when she looks up at Derek. “Who are you? And why do you get to the hold the baby? Only family gets to be here for moon nights! Daddy!” she yells, stomping her foot on Derek’s toe. “He’s kidnapping my baby!”

“Jesus, Millie, hold on, you know Peter wouldn’t let just anyone—holy fuck.”

“You said a bad word, Daddy,” Millie points out with glee. “That’s a five dollar bad word.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll put it in the swear jar when we get home. Promise.” Stiles waves at her with one hand, tries not to drop the toddler he’s holding on his hip with the other hand. He reaches out with his full hand, then realizes he needs it for the toddler and just stands there looking confused, a flush staining his skin and the scent of embarrassment hovering in the air around them.

Fuck is definitely the right word. This is the last person Derek wanted to run into tonight.

“Hi,” Derek says. “Your daughter thinks I stole Jack. Malia actually gave him to me.”

“Yeah, she does that to pretty much anyone standing nearby when she can,” Stiles says. He reaches up, shoves his free hand through his hair. The toddler on his hip buries his face in Stiles’s shoulder, then peeks cautiously at Derek.

More strawberry curls, more green-flecked whiskey eyes, more freckles. Same age.

“Twins?” Derek asks.

Stiles blinks in confusion, looking at the boy he holds and the girl still clinging to Derek’s legs like he’s never seen them before.

Peter snorts. “Yes, twins,” he says. “There must be something in the air in Beacon Hills, don’t you think? Stiles, would you like me to take your miscreants somewhere safe where Millie can hold Jack without dropping him?”

“I only dropped Malcolm once,” Stiles says. He doesn’t look at Peter as he hands off the toddler from his hip.

“Ah, focus. It’s fascinating when you’re distracted,” Peter says. He lowers Malcolm to the ground, and Malcolm reaches out to clutch Millie’s hand. Derek gives up Jack easily, and Peter walks off with Millie bouncing after him, reaching for the baby.

Stiles’s heart is beating so fast that Derek can’t hear anything else. There’s a low warning growl from Cora all the way across the room. When Derek reaches to touch Stiles’s arm, that growl grows louder and Derek drops his hand quickly.

“They’re Lydia’s,” Derek says. “Of course they are.”

“The twins,” Stiles replies slowly, coughing as he seems to catch up. “Yes, of course they’re Lydia’s kids. I mean, we—”

“No, I get it.” Derek breathes through his mouth, like that means he won’t taste the sweet syrupy undercurrent in the air around them. Like he won’t remember what it’s like to breathe the same air as Stiles Stilinski. “I haven’t really kept up with much, and Peter didn’t mention when he told me to come for Jack’s first moon. I’m pretty sure everything he said was important to his own life.” It’s only half a lie. He’d started out trying to keep track of news back home, but the details just kept reminding him how much he didn’t want to go home. So he stopped, for the sake of his sanity.

“Married to Chris Argent, surprise twin kids, first grandkid, and oh yes, True Alpha for a son-in-law?”Stiles reels off. “Did he mention that Jackson’s bi?”

Derek doesn’t remember that coming up explicitly, so he shakes his head.

Stiles points. “Peter’s other son-in-law: Jackson’s husband, Ethan.”

“That’s who Ethan is.” It makes sense now. Derek remembers Peter mentioning the name, somewhere in between the description of his daughter—and who she used to date before marrying Scott—and the description of his exceedingly potentially lethal husband. “So if that’s Jackson’s husband, that means Lydia is—” Derek’s gaze drifts to the twins again, and he can see it so easily now. They are perfect little replicas of Lydia and Stiles. “You got everything you ever wanted.”

Stiles rocks back on his heels, a sudden flash of confusion and anger mixing with the sweet in the air. “What?”

“You had a five year plan to marry Lydia Martin,” Derek says slowly. He remembers the summer after he graduated, the way Stiles sat on the edge of the pool and outlined that plan in detail until Cora dragged him into the pool and under the water just to shut him up. Stiles was determined. “Now you’ve got twins. Congratulations.”

Derek turns and heads for the house. Coming home was a bad idea. Staying would be worse.

It’s easier to just go out front, grab his rental car, and get away from it all. These are the moments that hotels are made for, and he’s got enough frequent flyer miles that tomorrow morning he can find a flight.

Doesn’t matter where it’s going. He’s got another few weeks before he’s due on a shoot. He just wants to be anywhere but here.

#

The knock on his door at 2:45am echoes sharply in the hotel room. Derek stumbles from his bed and is at the door before he remembers that he’s in Beacon Hills and there shouldn’t be any kind of an emergency. Nothing’s blowing up.

Unless it’s a family emergency. That’s Laura’s heartbeat outside, and her scent rising, angry and… he pulls open the door. “You’re drunk.”

“Hell, yes, I am. We are a very lucky pack because we have the good stuff that gets us drunk.” She pushes past him on her way into the room, the door banging shut behind her. She turns immediately, jabs a finger into his chest. “And you’re damned lucky that I have a very understanding husband because I was going to go home and f—” She cuts off, shakes her head. “We were going to go home, and he said I was yelling about you so maybe I should just go yell at you and get it out of my system and he dropped me off here so I’m doing that. Right now.”

“You’re married.” It shouldn’t be a surprise, but it is somehow. They’re thirty-two. Of course Laura’s married. Some of those kids running around the pack gather might have been hers.

She huffs in irritation. “I said that, keep up. Jordan is incredible. And the best part is, I can’t kill him. Not even accidentally. On the other hand, our son burst into flames once in his crib and nearly burned the house down. That wasn’t fun.” She waves a hand like that made sense, and moves on. “I’m not here to tell you about him. I’m here to yell at you.”

It seems to be a theme. Derek gestures to the small couch. “Sit down before you fall over, Laura. And give me your address so I can get you home after you’re done yelling.”

She waves her hand again. “Nope. I’m sleeping on your couch. Jordan will come get me in the morning. Cora’s got my kids along with hers—”

“Cora has kids?” That’s not something Derek saw coming.

Laura gives Derek a dark look. “Yes, Cora has kids. Jesus, weren’t you paying any attention tonight? Anyway. Cora has my kids, and Jordan will pick me up, and I will take your bed and you will sleep on this intensely uncomfortable couch because that is your punishment from me. Along with the yelling.”

“Your terms are accepted,” Derek agrees. It could be far, far worse.

Laura huffs. “Of course they are. Now get over here so I can hug you, you asshole.” She holds out her arms and Derek settles gingerly on the couch next to her and lets her pull him in.

She hugs like she’s trying to choke the life out of him at the same time. He probably should have expected that.

“You are such a fucking asshole,” she mutters into his shoulder. “You said you had one assignment in Nairobi and then you’d be back and then you didn’t come back and you just dropped off the face of the earth and how does someone even disappear in this day and age? No phone, no email, you just stopped existing until Peter found you somehow and of course you come back when he says so but not when we asked, and why did you leave me all alone?” She pulls back and punches him in the chest as hard as she can. “We’re twins, you asshole. You’re half of me. You can’t just abandon me like that.”

There is not a bit of that tirade that Derek can deny. “I’m sorry,” he says.

Laura snorts loudly. “No, you’re not. But you’ll say it anyway.”

He could explain. She might even understand if he tried, but he doesn’t want to risk interfering with the lives that other people have made here. This is a pack, and it’s not his pack any more, even though it’s his family. “Peter threatened to have Chris hogtie me and drag me back here by my balls,” Derek says.

Laura shudders. “Ew. Very vivid imagery, and I don’t doubt that it would happen that way. I really think Peter likes being married to a guy who used to want to kill him, and that is truly disturbing when you think about it. Do they play hunter and werewolf in the bedroom?”

“I don’t want to think about what Peter does in the bedroom,” Derek mutters. “So let’s not go there.”

Laura slumps, and for a moment Derek thinks that sleep has caught up with her. He tries to tilt her back, but she just looks at him, tears in the corners of her eyes. “You can’t go,” she whispers. “I want you to meet Jordan and my kids. And you have to meet Cora’s kids—I know she hates you right now, but she was sixteen when you ditched us. Give her time to get over it.”

“Mom said it could take another decade.” Derek suspects that Talia was right on that estimate; Cora could always hold a grudge, even when she was a kid.

“Cora is loyal,” Laura tells him, and Derek isn’t sure that makes sense in context, although it pleases Laura enough that she smiles. “She’ll come around.”

Maybe. In a decade. Or two or three. “It might just be easier to stay away until she does,” Derek suggests, and he’s half serious.

“I want to sleep.” Laura stumbles to her feet, makes it across the room to the bed and tumbles into it. “I’m not done yelling, but we can do that in the morning. Sleep now.”

There really isn’t time to say yes or no before she’s snoring softly, little snuffles that Derek remembers from when they were kids and still shared a room.

For the first time, it really does feel like he’s home again, with the undertone of Laura’s heartbeat in the room, and the sound of her breath, and her scent woven in all around him.

“Fine,” he whispers, even though he hates it. “I’ll stay. For a few days, anyway.”

“Good boy,” Laura murmurs, and he swears she’s asleep but she smiles anyway, like she’s pleased.

The couch really is horribly uncomfortable, made for looking good and not sitting, let alone sleeping. It’s the worst kind of punishment, but Derek falls asleep anyway.

#

He hears childish voices in the hall before the knock comes in the morning. It’s far too early, light spreading across the room through the cracks in the drapes. Laura groans on the bed, sits up slowly. “Fuck,” she swears.

“There is a downside to getting drunk,” Derek points out.

“Mmph. Fuck you,” Laura mutters, covering her eyes with one hand while jabbing the other in the direction of the door. “Get that before Jordan burns it down or something.”

Burns it down?

Derek yanks open the door and five children spill in through it, around the smiling man standing with his hand raised to knock again. “Jordan?” he asks.

Jordan lowers his hand. “I wouldn’t burn it down. This is public property and I don’t want to have to arrest myself.” He’s wearing the uniform of the Beacon Hills Sherrif’s department.

Laura sits on the edge of the bed, where she has one small boy in her lap, and two others sitting on either side of her. The remaining two children are at Derek’s suitcase, calmly lifting his clothes and looking at them.

The twins, from last night.

“What are you doing?” Derek asks.

“Daddy says you stink,” Millie says plainly. “I don’t think you do.” She presses a shirt to her face and inhales roughly. “Nope.”

“You have bad noses,” the boy on Laura’s lap points out.

Millie sticks out her lower lip in a pout. “Do not.”

The girl on Laura’s left takes her thumb out of her mouth long enough to lisp, “Do too.”

“Don’t,” Laura says, a warning touch to the top of each head. “Derek, these are mine and Jordan’s kids. Jordan, come in and close the door. You’re going to be late to work anyway, so stop hovering.”

“John’s going to—”

“John won’t say anything. He knows it’s pack business.” Laura waves away the worry with a flick of her fingers. “Derek, this is your nephew Stephan, and your nieces Bridget and Caitlin. You already met Millie and Malcolm last night.”

“He’s not our uncle,” Malcolm mutters. “Mama cried. Mama never cries.”

Derek can’t imagine Lydia crying, and he’s sure it’s disturbing. He also can’t figure out what he did that would make her cry. “I’m sorry,” he says, assuming it’s his fault.

Right now he’s pretty sure that everything is his fault.

“Why do you have spare children?” Laura asks. Jordan leans over to kiss her, and for a moment Derek regrets the fact that they are sitting on his bed. There are kids in the room, so this has to be their public affection, and Derek still feels vaguely uncomfortable at witnessing just how in love they must be.

“I’m delivering those two to Stiles at the station, and these three to my lovely wife so she can take them home,” Jordan murmurs. The kids all slide off the bed like they’re used to their parents making out like teenagers. When Jordan kisses Laura again, the kids ignore them, focused instead on taking apart Derek’s luggage one item at a time.

“He smells like pack,” Stephan mumbles as he inhales one of Derek’s shirts. “That doesn’t smell bad. Why does your Daddy think he smells bad?”

Millie and Malcolm shrug in unison.

“I’m sorry your Mommy cried,” Bridget lisps.

“Mama,” Malcolm corrects her sharply, and Bridget nods.

“Mama,” she echoes.

“I’ve got an idea,” Laura mumbles. “Why don’t you help me take the kids home, since you’re going to be late anyway. And Derek can walk the twins over to the station and drop them off with Stiles. It’s only a couple of blocks. They’ll get energy out. We’ll… get energy out.”

Derek’s heard enough. “Fine. If it gets you out of my room, I’ll take the twins to the station. Just—go home. Do that somewhere else.” He ushers them to the door, the twins still standing by his suitcase as the others leave. As Laura hugs him, Derek mumbles, “I can’t believe I ever missed you.”

Laura ruffles his hair and kisses his cheek. “I missed you, too. We all did. You still have a home here with the pack.”

Derek isn’t entirely sure that’s true, but he seems to be being pulled back into pack life abruptly enough.

The door closes and he looks at the kids, who look back at him. Malcolm holds a bottle of aftershave, and Millie has found a small satin pouch. She opens it, spilling the onyx fox onto her small palm. “What’s this?”

“A trinket.” Derek can’t explain it, just that he had to buy it when he saw it, then brought it all the way to Beacon Hills with no intention of actually giving it to the person it’s meant for. Life is complicated, and he doesn’t want to make it worse. He takes it carefully, puts it back in the bag and shoves it in his pocket. Then he collects his aftershave and a change of clothes, and puts them all in the bedroom.

He switches on the TV and gets the kids settled on the couch. “Just give me five minutes to shower, then I’ll take you to your Daddy,” he says. They make a sound that he thinks is agreement, but he knows what kids are like.

He leaves the bathroom door just barely cracked open while he showers. Not enough to risk being inappropriate, but enough that he’ll hear if they try something they shouldn’t. He’s almost fully dressed again before he hears one of them get off the couch and start walking around. Derek’s still pulling up his shorts when he emerges to find Millie looking through his suitcase again.

She stares at him with a guileless expression. Derek can’t decide if it reminds him more of Lydia or Stiles, and he’s genuinely fearful what this children might grow up to be like. Incredibly intelligent and fearless at the least, and probably more.

It’s very possible that Malcolm and Millie might rule the world someday.

Millie gently sets down the pair of jeans she holds. “Let’s go to Daddy,” she suggests.

That’s the best idea that Derek’s heard since the airplane touched down the day before. If they go find Stiles, he can hand off these kids, and everything in life will go back to normal.

Except in order to do that, he has to talk to Stiles.

Well, shit.

#

It seems like it should be an easy thing to walk two blocks between the hotel and the sheriff’s station, but despite growing up in a large family, Derek can’t remember trying to do this with two three year olds in tow before.

Every step is an adventure.

Millie pauses to pick a dandelion growing through the cracks in the sidewalk. As soon as Derek crouches down to encourage her to stand up again, Malcolm disappears around a corner into an alleyway between buildings to explore a trash bin. The stench is excruciating to Derek’s werewolf nose, and if he didn’t already know, this proves that Malcolm has no wolf blood in him.

When Millie disappears into a store, and they’ve only made it half a block, Derek considers carrying them both bodily to the sheriff’s station. If the freckles and attitude didn’t make it clear, he’d know they were Stiles’s kids now.

He captures Millie as she’s carefully carrying a mug from the window display to the counter and yelling, “Mommy will pay for it!”

“Millie,” Derek says quietly. She ignores him, and Malcolm is pulling on his hand hard enough that he has to look away. Malcolm tugs Derek into a back corner of the store where wooden toys are stacked on the shelves, all lovingly handmade, still smelling of fresh hewn oak. Or maybe that’s the door propped open to the back room, where Derek can hear the soft whir of a sander.

“Did you get permission, Millicent?” The woman at the counter has a gentle voice, as if she’s used to the twins barging in.

“Mommy said yes,” Millie announces firmly.

“Mama said Daddy has enough mugs,” Malcolm mutters under his breath.

“Mommy said she has a message for you.” Millie’s voice is low and serious. “I told her I was playing the toy piano last time I was here and Jeffrey whispered to me, so she’s going to come in and talk to him for you.”

Relief and hope in the air, mixed with anxiety. When Derek turns, the woman stands there stiffly, the mug clutched in her hands. “Thank you,” she whispers. Her gaze falls on Derek, narrows. “Where is Jordan?”

Millie glances back, rolls her eyes. “That’s Derek. I think he’s our uncle.”

“Mama hates him,” Malcolm says clearly, and the woman’s eyes widen.

“Mommy doesn’t,” Millie corrects. “He’s taking us to see Daddy. Uncle Jordan is busy with Aunt Laura.”

The woman’s mouth twitches. “I see. Let me just get this packed up for your dad then, and you can be on your way. He’s probably waiting for you.”

Derek tugs and Malcolm huffs but allows himself to be led to the front of the store again. Derek just barely catches the writing on the side of the mug.

_Underestimate me. That’ll be fun._

It sounds like something Stiles would like. Except…. “Can you even read what the mug says.”

The woman—her name tag says Trisha—snorts as she wraps it.

Millie turns a baleful glare on Derek. “I’m three,” she snaps. “Of course I can read.”

And that must be what Lydia was like as a tiny human. Hell, that’s what Lydia was like in high school, from the few memories Derek has of Cora’s friends before he left Beacon Hills.

Trisha finishes packing the mug and puts it into a paper bag with handles, that Millie loops over one arm like a purse. Without letting go of Malcolm, Derek grabs onto Millie’s free hand. Trisha snorts again, and meets his eyes.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you…?” she lets the sentence drag on, waiting for Derek to supply the answer.

“Derek Hale. The one that left and pissed everyone off,” he replies, because he gets the feeling that most of the town either remembers or has heard of him. From the way Trisha’s nodding, he’s probably right.

Trisha looks from Malcolm—still pulling toward the back of the room—to Millie—ready to head out the front door, and her lips twitch again, pulling up slowly into a smile. “Good luck,” she says. “Be good, Millicent. Malcolm.”

“We need to go to Daddy now,” Millie says, pulling toward the door.

“You stopped here! I want to look at the trains,” Malcolm yells.

“We’re going to Stiles. Now.” Derek wants to say he’s in charge, but it still somehow takes several minutes before he has both kids wrangled out the door. He has werewolf strength. How can two three-year-olds possibly be causing him this much trouble?

Now that he realizes how well-known the twins are in this town, or maybe just in the space around sheriff’s office, he has a feeling he’s not the only adult they’ve run rampant over.

Anyway, there’s very little he can do about it, and now that Millie has a gift in hand, she’s pulling harder down the street than Malcolm is pulling toward anything else. And Derek refuses to let go of either of them.

When they reach the sheriff’s office, Sally at the front desk greets Derek warmly and welcomes him back to Beacon Hills. He doesn’t get the chance to bask in the idea that at least one person isn’t pissed off at him before Millie breaks free of his hold and races away, the bag held out in front of her like a trophy.

Malcolm glances up at Derek and very deliberately peels his hand free from Derek before running after her.

“I have to—” Derek waves in the direction of the children, and Sally nods like this happens all the time.

“His office is in the back, next to the Sheriff’s,” she says.

Derek doesn’t really need directions. He can follow the children, taking a straighter path than the serpentine path the children take. They swerve from desk to desk, greeting people on the way and taking candy from well-placed bowls on desks.

The door opens before they get there, and Stiles calls out, “Jordan, did you stop at home for a—oh, hey. Derek.” His expression closes off, lips pressed together and gaze guarded until Millie is right there in front of him, bag shoved upwards, the handle held in both hands.

“Here!” she announces. “I got this for you. Because I _read_.” The last is said with a dirty look at Derek.

Stiles’s mouth opens, closes. “You will learn that confusion is a natural state around these two,” he says before pushing his door open wider. “Come on in and sit down. They say they gave me an office because of my rank, but I’m pretty sure it’s because it has room for these two to go crazy without disturbing the rest of the bullpen. And sometimes they bring friends.”

Derek catches sight of the plaque on the wall as he walks through the door: _Mieczysław Stilinski, Director of Supernatural Affairs_. “You’re only 26,” he says.

“Hm? Oh, yeah, well, Jordan didn’t want it, and Dad figured that one of us should be doing it since no one else from the pack who is actually supernatural was working here. Valerie is a deputy, but she’s human. Liam’s just started here a year ago, and his temper’s worse than mine, so it’ll be a while before he’s ready for any kind of supervisory role. Hayden’s in the lab, and has to be dragged out for field work. And Lydia’s only an advisor. So. I kind of got the job by default. Besides.” Stiles gestures at the other side of the sizable office, which is set up to look like a miniature kindergarten complete with craft supplies, a double-stacked well-packed bookshelf, toys, and one computer. “Half the time, I’m pack daycare somehow, too.”

Millie carefully sets her bag on Stiles’s desk, then goes to the shelf to pick out a book Derek vaguely remembers reading in third grade. She sits down on a beanbag, carefully opens it to a bookmark, and stares at the page. Her eyes track back and forth, and about thirty seconds later she turns the page, glancing up briefly to glare at him again before she returns to her reading. Malcolm pulls out a bin and works to build a train track around her.

“Mommy says she’ll pick us up at lunch,” Millie says off-handedly.

“Mama says that you have to tell her if Derek is here and that he can go f—” Malcolm cuts off as Millie kicks him.

Stiles winces, and instead of responding, picks up the bag Millie left on his desk. He unwraps the mug carefully, laughing as he reads it. “I love it. Thank you, peanut.” He carefully wipes it out with a cloth from his desk, then pours coffee from one mug into the new one. The one he emptied goes on a shelf behind his desk marked “wash me” as opposed to the shelf right above it labeled “safe to use.”

“I should do my dishes more often,” he says with a wave at the shelves. “Yes, they make fun of me.”

There are pictures hanging on the wall as well. Pictures of the pack. Pictures of Stiles and the twins. One picture of Lydia and the twins. Off to the side there’s one of Cora and Stiles and the twins, Cora half-wolfed out and play-fighting, and the shot is blurry as if the person holding the camera was laughing.

Derek swallows hard at the realization, once again, that he is no longer part of his own pack, and it’s his own fault.

There’s a soft thunk as Stiles sets his now-drained mug back on the desk. Stiles stares at Derek, his brow furrowed and lips thin and tight. “Millie. Malcolm,” he says without looking a them.

“Hm?” they respond in unison. Malcolm lifts Millie’s foot, and she holds it in the air as he builds track under it, then he puts blocks over it for a bridge so she can rest her foot on that.

“I need coffee, and I am going to walk down to Julia’s to get it,” Stiles says slowly. “If you stay in the office and do not disturb anyone—I’m including pack in that statement, and your grandfather—there will be cookies with me when I return.”

“Unicorn,” Millie says firmly, while Malcolm replies, “Chocolate peanut butter.”

“Done,” Stiles says. He picks up his mug again and gestures at the door. He shoves Derek through and closes the door behind them. For a moment it looks as if he’s seriously considering locking it before his shoulders slump. “Who am I kidding? Malcolm can already pick the lock. He’s three, Derek. When my dad said, ‘someday you’ll have kids just like you’ I really thought that I’d have more time to adjust after they were born.”

Derek can’t imagine how Stiles thought it would be any different than it is. “It’s genetics. You and Lydia. You had to have known.”

“We did not think this through,” Stiles mutters. He yanks open the door and peeks through before closing it carefully. “They’ll still be there when I get back,” he says. It sounds like he’s trying to convince himself.

Derek isn’t familiar with Julia’s, but it seems obvious that he’s expected to follow when Stiles leads the way out of the station. He waves at Sally on the way by, and avoids the glare Sheriff Stilinski sends his way.

Stiles is strangely silent on the way to Julia’s, which turns out to be a diner, not a coffee shop. Stiles waves as he walks in, and Julia herself delivers a pot of coffee and a plate of curly fries to the table, along with a paper bag, all without even asking for an order. She holds out a mug and a little bowl of creamers in silent question, and when Derek reaches for them, she sets them down and leaves.

Stiles pours himself a coffee, dumps three sugar packets in, and stirs it before taking a long swallow. Derek puts a creamer in his own mug and pours coffee over it. He takes a cautious sip.

“Good coffee,” he says. “It doesn’t really need the sugar.”

“I like things bittersweet,” Stiles mutters. He keeps his hands around the mug, fingers drumming against the side. “So. It’s been ten years. You haven’t been in touch with anyone except, apparently, Peter, and last night you said something to me.”

Derek flinches because he’s not sure he remembers his exact words at the full moon ceremony and he’s hoping that he wasn’t talking to Stiles long enough to have said something that made things completely, embarrassingly apparent. “I did?”

Stiles gives him a dark look. “You said I got everything I ever wanted.”

Oh. That.

Derek waves a hand at the door, as if to point back at the station. “Lydia. The twins. Your five year plan.”

“That five year plan went out the window our junior year,” Stiles says flatly. “She broke up with Jackson. We found out about Malia and Jackson being Hales. Lydia started dating Cora—for values of dating that involved an awful lot of semi-public sex and both of them refusing to admit they had feelings.”

Peter left a lot of things out.

“I’m sorry,” Derek says.

Stiles waves a hand. “Don’t be. I mean, they’re married now, and that’s awesome. Cora’s terrifying. I mean, she’s one of my best friends, and one of the best things in my life. So’s Lydia. So when they asked if I’d be a sperm donor I jumped on that. And it’s been fantastic, even if our kids are kind of evil in a wonderful way.”

“Your kids are Cora’s kids,” Derek says slowly, because a few things might be starting to make sense now, like his confusion over Malcolm’s Mama and Millie’s Mommy.

Stiles nods. “My kids are Cora’s and Lydia’s kids. They’re awesome moms, really. The twins keep them on their toes. It was tough getting to this point—turns out artificial insemination and supernatural beings don’t mix well, and we had a couple of dark years before we figured that out. And you can imagine the conversation about doing things the natural way. But… that was once, it was overseen—and let me tell you, Cora’s terrifying enough to scare away a boner rather than encourage one which made it really awkward—and we’ve got the kids.”

Derek’s mouth hangs open slightly, and he tries to hide his lack of words by drinking coffee. “That must have been….” He doesn’t even know how to end that sentence.

“Weird,” Stiles says. “Lydia and I dated for something like five seconds between her bad breakup with Jackson and her epic sex with Cora. I love her, probably always will, but it’s like I love Cora. And it’s funny. You’re totally wrong about me getting everything I ever wanted. I got Lydia, in a way, but by that point she wasn’t it for me.”

“So you’ve got—”

“Nothing,” Stiles says. “No one. Just daydreams of the one who got away because I was too much of an idiot, and not enough of a witch yet to figure out what it meant.”

Something curls in Derek’s belly, like the coffee settles there, warming him from the inside out. His nostrils flare and he licks his lips, tasting vanilla sugar and bitter scent of embarrassed anxiety. Stiles’s heart rate ratchets up, and he lets go of his coffee mug, tapping his fingers against the table instead.

Derek reaches across, covers Stiles’s hand with his own, and the drumming stops immediately. The vanilla intensifies, with an acrid, panicked undertone.

“You were just a kid when Paige died,” Derek says.

Stiles’s brow draws together in complete confusion. “What?”

“You probably don’t even remember it.” Derek continues, because this is important, and he really hopes he’s reading this right. “I was sixteen, so you and Cora were, what, ten? If that. I was in love for the first time. She wanted to be pack, and her parents agreed and Mom said that it was up to her in the end. We waited for six months before everyone said that Paige could do it. That even if we broke up someday, she was part of our family already. She should take the Bite.”

Even half a lifetime later, the memory is still vivid, and Derek clenches his hand around Stiles’s fingers where they lie together on the table. “I was with her when Mom bit her. Paige died in my arms. I still had another year and a half of high school to go, and everywhere I went people knew. They all knew that Paige had wanted to join our pack, and the Bite rejected her, and she died. I killed her by falling in love with her. So I went as far away as I could for college.”

“You went to NYU,” Stiles says quietly. “Cora cried all the time after you graduated. She didn’t want anyone to see, but my mom was sick around the same time, so she sat at the hospital with me until Mom got better, and she pretended she was crying because I was crying, and I pretended I was crying because she was upset. It kind of worked for us. And Scott would come stay with us and make sure we ate because we were both so angry all the time.”

Derek hadn’t heard that, and it’s hard to think about Cora crying, even when she was only twelve. He makes a small noise, fingers flexing and clenching again. Stiles turns his hand under Derek’s and holds on.

Derek makes a point of meeting Stiles’s gaze. “It helped. A little. I dated a grad student my freshman year, which was stupid, but at that point I just wanted to get back out there and do something with someone who didn’t remember Paige. It turned out she was a dark witch who wanted to suck my werewolf curse—as she called it—from my dying body, which didn’t go over well with me or with the administration. She was expelled, and I decided that dating was obviously a bad idea. I had a few hookups, explored a few things that I wanted to explore, but I didn’t let anyone get close. Then I graduated with my degree in History and Visual Arts, and I came home for the summer to be with the pack before I went out on my first assignment. I figured three months at home would be good. I could be a part of the pack again before I had to travel, and afterward I could come home between jobs.”

“You didn’t come home between jobs,” Stiles mutters. He’s looking at the table, brow still deeply furrowed like the wooden surface is going have answers that Derek’s not giving.

They’re still holding hands, and Derek takes that as a hopeful sign.

“I didn’t,” Derek agrees. “Because I couldn’t make myself do it. I spent the summer with the pack, and I saw how much it had grown. Mom had bitten Scott by then, since Scott was pretty much glued to you and Cora. Lydia was there with Jackson. And you were—you were best friends with Cora and Scott, and you were ridiculous when we were at the pool, clowning around, trying to get Lydia to notice you. You had your five year plan to get rid of Jackson and date Lydia. And you were painfully straight.”

“I was sixteen and to be honest, I’m pretty sure that a stiff breeze turned me on and I would’ve taken anything I could get,” Stiles mumbles. “My first blow job was actually from Danny, senior year. I loved Lydia, yeah, but I lusted after everyone I saw. I’ve never been straight, Derek.”

Derek takes a moment to filter through how Stiles says that, and it doesn’t really make the hurt any less.

“I’ve never been straight, either,” he says slowly. He pulls his hand back from Stiles, leaves it splayed against the table. “I’d thought about it a lot in high school, but after Paige, I didn’t even want to think about a relationship. Neither did anyone else; I was poison as far as they were concerned. When I got back here—you were so young, and you smelled so good, and you seemed to be so straight. I knew that—I knew that there wasn’t anyone else. That no one else was going to be the same, but I couldn’t deal with it. I couldn’t sit around and watch you grow up with Lydia. And you had to grow up. And I couldn’t be the one to poison you, make you risk your life by me wanting you. And you say you lusted after everyone—I’d done the one night thing, and that wouldn’t have been enough.”

Stiles finally looks up, and Derek can smell the pungent anger in the air that’s echoed in his whiskey eyes. “So you just ran away for ten years?”

“You were sixteen, Stiles.”

“And two years later I was eighteen,” Stiles snaps. “And now I’m twenty-fucking-six and I’m sitting across from the man who I’ve known is my mate for almost a decade and he’s been too scared to come back and say anything. Too scared to even talk to his family. Jesus fucking Christ, Derek. What did you think was going on while you were gone?”

Derek blinks at the anger, shakes his head. “I don’t know. I just—I needed to get away. You had no idea—”

“_Then_,” Stiles says firmly. “I had no idea right then because I was a sixteen year old idiot and it took me two fucking years to figure out what it was that was different about you. Also several conversations with my mother, and learning how to be a better witch and a better pack member, and when it all snapped into place, my heart broke because no one even knew where you were. And the worst part was, when I talked to Talia about it, she figured you had to have known and that’s why you left.”

Stiles inhales roughly, puts his hand up before Derek can speak. “I have spent the last eight years feeling like a part of me is missing,” he says, tone low and dark. “And then you walked back in and you’re just making assumptions like you did before, and you’re going to leave, just like you did before. So I don’t see the point. Whatever magical, mystical link there is between us, I’ve survived just fine without you in my life, despite that.”

“You were sixteen.” Derek remembers it vividly, the ache and pain of knowing that he couldn’t do a thing about it. That it was just another relationship destined to be a mess.

“Ten years ago!” Stiles snaps. “It’s your fault that you haven’t done anything in the time since. Your fault that we didn’t have a chance. So deal with it, Derek. And if you’re not planning on doing anything about it again, then leave, because I don’t know about you, but it’s painful as fuck for me to have you here.”

His anger is like a wall directed at Derek, a physical thing battering against him. Derek can smell it, feel it, like a weight pushing down. Derek sits back, the chair scraping on the floor. “You’re the reason Cora hates me that much.”

Stiles shrugs. “Possibly. Her emotions are hers to do with as she wants.”

“Do I have a chance?” The words slip out, and Derek wants to call them back as soon as Stiles skewers him with a glare.

“What do you think?” Stiles spits.

Right.

He deserves this.

Derek stands and walks out without another word.

#

Derek sits in his hotel room the rest of the day, getting room service for dinner so he doesn’t have to go out, and then room service again for breakfast. The hotel calls his room, and he extends his stay through the next week, then charges lunch to be brought up as well.

He opens his laptop mid-afternoon and browses flights. There’s one to Barcelona and he considers doing a personal tour of Gaudí architecture. He has an idea for a coffee table book and this would be just one small part of it. He could easily spend two weeks in Spain, then move on to his next shoot, and he’d never even miss….

He closes the laptop and slumps on the couch.

He’d miss the pack.

He’d miss his family.

He’s already missed his chance with Stiles. Fucked it up beyond repair.

The knock on the door has him inhaling, hopeful, but no. He opens it and steps back out of the way quickly, just in case. “Hi, Cora.”

“You are such a fucking idiot.” She tackles him, holding on like she can squeeze the breath from his lungs. It startles him enough that he doesn’t touch her at first, then he carefully brings his arms up, hugs her cautiously while she clings.

She carries the scent of pack with her. Lydia and Stiles. The twins. The family in general. He presses his nose against her hair and inhales, drinking the sense of pack into his lungs.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

She shoves at him, punches his chest twice in quick succession. “You asshole,” she replies. “You just walked out when I was ten, and then you did it again when I was twelve, and then you were just gone. And we needed you. I mean we all needed you. Mom needed you in the pack. Laura needed you because you’re her twin, and I needed you because you’re my only big brother. Peter needed you to help keep him sane, especially when Jackson and Malia turned his world upside down. And Stiles—God, Stiles needed you so damned much and you knew that, Derek. You knew he would, and you still didn’t even bother to call us.”

She shoves at him, and Derek stumbles back, hits the couch and sits. She climbs up to sit on the back, her feet next to him, one hand on his shoulder to keep him in place. She looks down on him like this, and he can feel her anger in the air, burning into his lungs.

“You’re going to leave again,” she says flatly, and it isn’t a question. Derek has been judged in these few minutes and found wanting, just like he deserves.

He hangs his head. “Not yet,” he mumbles. “I thought about it.”

“But?” Cora prompts.

“But I’d miss the pack.” He rocks forward as Cora thumps the back of his head. “And my family.”

“Do you want me to do it again?” she asks, hand raised.

“I don’t deserve a chance with Stiles.” Derek twists so he can look at her, and if it has the advantage of taking his head out of easy range of her hand, that’s a good thing. “He’s right. I fucked up. I get that.”

Cora slumps. “Okay, so, you’re not wrong. You don’t deserve a chance with him at all, because you should have just come back. Given him time to figure it out, and maybe asked a few people if he was really as straight as you thought. You were a boneheaded idiot who made a lot of stupid assumptions and can’t communicate worth a damn. But—”

“But?” he asks, when she cuts off abruptly.

“But Stiles is even more miserable now than he was when you were gone,” she grumbles, her head hanging down, both elbows resting on her knees as she leans forward. “He had a crush on you that summer. Which, if you weren’t absolutely oblivious, or panicked, or both, you would’ve noticed. I told him you were a boring old fart, and he didn’t believe me. He talked about you so much that when Lydia and Jackson broke up, she dated him just to see if he was still in love with her. Which—spoiler alert—he wasn’t. Not that way. Which worked out great for me, since it meant I finally got my shot. But it also means that he started figuring out that he wasn’t just crushing on you, he was stupid in love with you. Then he figured out that there was this magical bond thing between you, and you two were fated or whatever, I mean, go scale a tower without doors for him or something already. We’ve already got one legend in our pack with a True Alpha. We might as well have second generation True Mates as well.”

It’s too much information.

Cora straightens up, tilts her head as she looks at him. She reaches out to pat his cheek. “Derek. In case this isn’t getting through to you, I’m telling you to stay. And that if you break Stiles’s heart again, I am going to break your balls.”

Derek blinks. “Please never talk about my balls again, Cora.”

She grins. “Fix this mess, and I won’t. Screw up, and you’ll be sorry.”

“How the fuck did Lydia ever get pregnant?” The question slips out, and Derek’s more than a little horrified that he asked it. He doesn’t want to think about it, but at the same time, Stiles is right, and Cora has grown up to be the most terrifying Hale.

This must be what happens when hunters are invited into the pack.

Or maybe it’s just Cora.

Cora looks confused. “The usual way, but I’m pretty sure you don’t want me to describe that in detail. I mean, I was there, so I could. But.” She cuts off when Derek gets a hand over her mouth. “Thought so,” she says, muffled by his hand.

“I have to be in Rome in just under three weeks,” Derek says carefully, keeping his hand in place so Cora can’t interrupt. “It’s a fashion shoot. I can’t get out of it. I don’t—I don’t actually have anything else scheduled after that. I wanted to take a vacation and travel a little. Work on a personal project.”

She grips his wrist, pulls his hand away from her mouth. “Stiles and the pack are a perfect personal project. For you, not for your camera.”

“How pissed off would you be if I took Stiles with me?” It’s a crazy thought. They don’t know each other all that well. There have been ten years of missing out, and Derek knows they need something stable in place before they start traveling the world together. But at the same time, this is important. He needs to travel, and he’s a little afraid right now that if he leaves Stiles behind, there won’t be anything to come back to.

“I think that’s entirely up to Stiles.” Cora pushes, jumps off the couch. She brushes invisible lint from her jeans before heading to the door. She pauses at it, turning back as she smiles sharply. “You have a reservation at Eglantine’s tonight at seven for dinner. It’s on Jackson’s tab, so feel free to go wild.”

“Why does Jackson care about me and Stiles?”

Cora snorts and shakes her head. “Jackson is Malia’s twin, and Malia is married to Scott, who is Stiles’s best friend other than me and Lydia. Out of the two of them, Malia is the far more vicious twin. Besides. Jackson is also Peter’s son, and Peter wants you happy and sticking around. God help us, but when he married Chris he decided everyone’s relationships should be perfect. He’s a fucking sappy romantic under that evil, snarky exterior.”

She lifts one hand, wiggles her fingers. “Eglantine’s. Seven o’clock. Do not be late. Drink expensive wine.”

#

Derek is pretty sure that Eglantine’s wasn’t a restaurant when he was last in Beacon Hills. It’s in the factory district, where the warehouses have been converted into luxury industrial condos, and the retail and restaurant businesses have been working in each new living area. It’s like a city within a city, and Derek’s impressed by the layout and the functionality of the space.

He finds Eglantine’s on the third floor of one building, taking over the entire floor and reachable by either an elevator off to one side, or two sets of circular stairs that spiral up either side of the open first and second floors. Most of the walls are brick, heavy and earthy, and the place calls to Derek in a way that the forest does. He pauses on the second floor next the door clearly marked “Office” and picks up a flyer for the lofts on the upper floors. He doubts there are any available, but it’s worth looking into the possibility.

“Planning on moving in?”

The voice is low, with a hint of gravel. It takes a moment for Derek to place the face, but then he recognizes Chris Argent—Peter’s husband. Derek holds out a hand and Chris clasps it firmly, squeezing in a faint show of strength.

“I like the feel of the building, but I’m just here for dinner,” Derek says. He tucks the flyer into his back pocket as something for later. “I thought Peter had a house?”

“We do.” Chris smiles slightly, emphasizing the first word. “My daughter, however, lives here with her husband. I’m picking up something from Eglantine’s on my way up.” He gestures, and Derek walks up the stairs ahead of him. “Several of the pack live here, or in this district. It’s Peter and Jackson’s joint venture. Ethan’s the designer.”

That explains the comfort, and why Derek vaguely recognizes the hostess standing at the entrance to Eglantine’s. Her bright red lips twist into an even brighter smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Derek!” she calls out. “I’m Erica. We didn’t get to meet the other night before you ran off.” She captures his arm, starts to speak but is cut off by Chris.

“I’m just taking my bag. Tell Isaac I’ll be up with Allison and my granddaughter,” Chris says. “Remind him not to work late.”

“I’ll tell him, but if business is good and Boyd needs him, he’s stuck,” Erica says. “You can’t argue with income.”

Erica tucks her arm into the crook of Derek’s elbow, her other hand trapping him as she leads him into a back corner of the restaurant. “You two have one of our private dining areas,” she says, just a little too flat to be pleasant. “Dining only, please, we’re a respectable establishment. Boyd’s prepared a menu for you, and promised not to poison yours as long as you treat Stiles well. Jackson picked out your wine, not Malia. Lydia said to tell you that Stiles doesn’t have the twins again until Saturday.”

Erica pushes him through the doorway, slides a decorative door closed behind him. “Enjoy your meal!”

There’s a single table in the center of the room, and the lighting is dimmed. There are four chairs in the room, but only two at the table, currently seated next to each other. The table is already set with large plates topped with smaller plates of some kind of salad. A basket of bread and a plate of—Derek inhales—chicken tenders take the center of the table.

Stiles stands by a huge floor to ceiling window that looks out towards the district. He turns as Derek stands there silently, his tension bitter in the air. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Derek approaches the table rather than Stiles, picks up one chicken tender and swipes it through the ranch sauce before holding it out. “Truce?”

Stiles huffs. “You passed the test. Boyd didn’t think there was any way you’d remember. Cora swore you would. Then Jackson called you a dumbass, and things went downhill from there.” He shrugs. “My friends. Our pack. They’ve locked us in a room until we sort things out.”

Derek feels a little stupid standing there with a chicken tender in his hand, holding it out like a peace offering. Stiles may have said he passed a test, but he still hasn’t approached.

Fine. Derek can take the initiative.

He moves with slow steps, giving Stiles a chance to retreat if he wants. He approaches with the chicken tender still held up, offering it to Stiles for a bite when he reaches him. “The question is whether you want to work things out,” Derek says quietly.

Stiles takes a small, careful bite. “I’m still thinking about it.”

“There was another answer to the test,” Derek replies, and Stiles cocks his head, motions for him to continue. Derek offers the chicken tender again, and this time Stiles opens his mouth wide and nips Derek’s fingers before he can withdraw. Stiles grins while he chews.

“Hot sauce,” Derek says. “If it wasn’t just ranch, you’d double-dip, putting it in hot sauce first, then the ranch. Never blue cheese, because you said it tastes like feet.”

“You seriously remember that?” Stiles uses his thumb to wipe a bit of ranch dressing off his lips, then licks the dressing from the tip.

The air smells like vanilla sugar again, and this time it’s Derek’s heart thudding loudly. He licks his lips.

“I remember that,” he says. “You ate a lot of chicken tenders that summer.”

“Do you remember getting drunk at your high school graduation?” Stiles asks.

Derek opens his mouth, closes it again as his cheeks go hot. “That was the first time we had that beer your mom makes,” he mumbles. “I didn’t know it could actually get me drunk, and I think Laura and I tried to drink an entire case of it. It tasted so good, we just kept going back for more until we were falling over each other. Fuck, you remember that?”

“That was the first night I noticed you,” Stiles says quietly. He makes a face, waves a hand. “I mean before the getting drunk part. It was a pack thing, and we were all there, because of course we’d be there. Our alpha’s oldest kids had just graduated high school, but I didn’t really care about it. Cora had a pool, and me and Scotty were planning on taking over the pool, and Lydia had a brand new bikini, which was… let me tell you, that was a wondrous thing to boys just entering teenager hood.” Stiles sighs slightly, waves his hand as if to erase everything he’s said.

“I’m rambling. The point is. You were also at the pool. And Laura, but she’s only a side point here. I saw you, and I was like oh, hey, and then I had what I thought was the world’s most horrible realization because I didn’t know what to do with it.” Stiles gestures from Derek’s head down to his toes. “You were attractive. Very attractive. Enough that it jumpstarted the thought that I might be bi, which I completely shoved down under a series of questions to Danny throughout high school—he was the only gay guy I knew at the time. But my point is. You were probably my first crush. My last crush. I don’t even know what to say about this any more, Derek, because honestly, you coming back is like sticking a knife in my heart.”

“That was before—”

“Before you realized that there was something linking us?” Stiles says. “Yeah, by about four years. And before I had an even bigger crush on you the summer you spent with us before you disappeared. And also before I had that same realization about whatever it is between us.” His hand moves from just in front of his chest to point at Derek.

If Derek looks closely enough, he can almost imagine the string Stiles is showing, tying them together.

“I’m sorry.” He drops his gaze, wincing when Stiles thumps a hand against the window.

“Stop saying that, Derek.” Stiles snarls, and it’s a fair imitation of a werewolf. “You’re sorry. I get it. I’m sorry, too, because honestly, I wasn’t brave enough to go up to a guy who seemed so much more adult and tell him I had a crush. I thought I had time. Hell, I thought you were like Lydia and you’d just brush me off anyway, so why should I bother? Cora knew.”

“Which, again, is why she’s hated me.”

“And why she’s pushing at us.”

Derek glances at the table, still set and waiting for them, and the closed door. “I have an assignment in Rome,” he says quietly. He’d bet Stiles has already talked to Cora today, but it’s possible he hasn’t. “After that I’m taking a vacation. A real vacation. I need some personal time.”

Stiles crosses his arms again, stays silent.

“I picked up a flyer about the building,” Derek says slowly. “I was thinking of seeing if they had any spaces available to rent.”

Stiles’s shoulders loosen. He wiggles his fingers, carefully uncrosses his arms. “Oh?”

“It depends on if there’s a pack willing to welcome me back.” Derek thinks of his mother’s tears, and Laura’s drunk yelling, and Cora’s threats. “But if I’m in Beacon Hills, we could—”

“We could?” Stiles prompts.

Derek licks his lips, and Stiles licks his as well, and Derek can feel the threads drawing tight, pulling them together. He resists the pull, exhales as he finds the right words. “We could get to know each other. Try talking, which I’ve been told I’m not very good at. We could date. See if magic has the right idea.”

“Derek.” Stiles says his name, soft and low, and it feels like a weight dropped at his feet, then low warmth that coils up his legs, keeping him from moving.

“Yes?”

“I’m going to kiss you now.” Stiles places both hands on either side of Derek’s face, his thumbs sliding along his cheekbones. He leans in slowly, brushes his lips against Derek’s. It’s far too light at first, and Derek’s lips tingle with the taste of him.

Stiles starts to pull back, and something leaps between them, the bright static shock leaving Derek reeling.

“Fuck it,” Stiles mumbles, and he’s in Derek’s arms, kissing him like they could drown together.

And like this Derek tastes it, tastes every bit of Stiles’s magic on his tongue, the way it makes his wolf howl. He wraps Stiles up, holds on tight as he kisses him, revels in the feel of magic washing over his skin.

Derek lets go first, and Stiles steps back, pupils blown wide until there’s only a tiny rim of whiskey brown around the black in his eyes. Stiles wavers, and Derek catches his hand, and they stand just like that for a long moment. Derek can feel every point of touch, every bit of skin between them.

Connected.

He lets go because he promised something. “We need to get to know each other,” Derek says quietly. “So. Be my dinner date tonight?”

Stiles sits when Derek pulls the chair out, reaches across to grip his hand again, thumb stroking along the side of Derek’s hand. “We’re going to do this,” Stiles says softly. “No one’s going to run this time, right?”

“I have to leave and go to Rome, but I’m coming back,” Derek promises. He takes his own seat, and something in his pocket pokes him. He fishes out the small bag, spills the onyx fox onto his palm.

Stiles tilts his head curiously, and Derek sets the fox on the table between them.

“I was in Mexico and there were a lot of stores with little figurines. I wandered into one because it felt right—like the stones were real, not some kind of cheap keepsake. This one felt like I needed to get it. For you,” Derek explains.

“How long have you had it?” Stiles asks.

“About a week.” Derek can’t lie about this. “I found it, I bought it, and I had no intention of bringing it here. Then Peter contacted me, and he threatened me, but that’s not why I came home.”

Stiles lets go of Derek so he can use both hands to pick up the tiny fox. “Are you trying to say you came home because you thought about me?”

“I always thought about you,” Derek admits. “It was just—I bought this, and then Peter reached out, and I just felt like I had to come. I thought I could leave again, that you’d be safe and happy and I wouldn’t disturb anyone.”

Stiles stares down at the fox on his palm. “And if I want to be disturbed?”

“Then that fox was a sign, and now it’s a promise.” Derek closes Stiles fingers around the figuring. “I’m not going anywhere again. Not for good, anyway. And if you decide you want to, you’re welcome to follow me.”

Stiles grins then, brighter than the sun, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Maybe we should get to know each other better before I follow you to the ends of the earth. But in the future, sure. We can work on that.”

For the first time in years, Derek feels like maybe he’s come home again. Maybe there’s a home to come to, maybe he has a place to be. He feels lighter, and not just from the way sparks ripple over his skin, lighting him up from the inside.

He lets go of Stiles, and gestures at the plate of chicken tenders. “Then let’s just start with dinner, and see where it goes.”

Because for once in his life, Derek has a feeling that things might go in a good direction. He’s willing to wait it out and see. Maybe, just maybe, he deserves this.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me (mostly silent) on Tumblr as [tryslora](http://tryslora.tumblr.com) and on Pillowfort as [tryslora](https://www.pillowfort.io/tryslora). I also write original fiction! If you like my fic, you might like my original twice-weekly series [Welcome to PHU](http://welcometophu.tumblr.com) (also mirroring on Pillowfort at [Welcome to PHU](https://www.pillowfort.io/community/WelcomeToPHU)).


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